Miranda's Giants, Chapters 7-10

Chapter 7: Arrows In The Hand Of A Warrior

Miranda stood nervously in the open grass outside the city. After the prince had left to alert his men of the plans, she and Shade had crept out of the tower room and descended the stairs. Then Shade had led her through a maze of side passages and back doors until they had come out the scullery entrance and escaped from the town unnoticed. Now she waited while he set up a target some fifty feet from where she stood. She had a small bow with her, of the style known as recurve, for the standard longbow borne by the Wanderers and other bowmen in the land were far too large for her. She was by no means weak for a woman, but to find a bow that she could shoot at great lengths with sufficient power necessitated the recurve. Her arrows too, were somewhat shorter, though not by much, and were straight and strong, with gray feather fletching, which was signature of the Wanderers and whose association she much preferred. If they had been royal arrows, the shafts would have been black with that hideous garish yellow fletching.
“Isn’t that a little close?” Miranda asked as Shade came back.
He laughed. “You’ll find it plenty hard enough to hit at first.” He explained to her the basics of archery and demonstrated with a shot of his own. She noticed that he switched easily from shooting left-handed, as was clearly his habit, to right hand to show her.
Lefties. They do everything both ways. I suppose it comes of living backwards among normal-handers.  When Miranda felt confident enough, she tried her first arrow, then another, and another. Only her last two hit the target – on the edge. “Wow, this is way harder than I thought when you explained it,” she said as she went to retrieve her arrows. “I sure hope I’m not this bad when it really counts.”
“That’s why the target is so close. We’ll focus mostly on closer range targets and measuring elevation as that will be most of what you’ll have to deal with.” Shade pulled his own arrow from where it protruded, all but the feathers buried, from the center of the target.
Miranda looked up from extracting two. “I was going to ask you – why is your fletching green?” Where most of the Wanderers adorned their arrows with gray feathers, Shade’s arrows sported bright parrot green ones.
“I find them easier to spot when I’m picking them up after a skirmish. Also, my father used green feathers, and so I always have too.”
“Oh…” Miranda loved the idea. A family legacy passed down from generation to generation. She knew that if she ever became a regular archer, her arrows would boast green feathers, and if ever she had children of her own, they would learn how to shoot a bow and bear their own green-feathered arrows.
“Did you want to try those shots again?” Shade’s voice interrupted her reflections.
“What? Oh, yes, I do.” She broke into a run and raced back to her former position. Time and again she drew her bow, aimed at the target, and missed; but she was getting the hang of it, and speed and accuracy increased with each shot. It was still well before noon when, having mastered sufficiently judging elevation and angles as well as simple shooting, Shade told her she was good enough to move on.
“You mean, face the giants?” she asked.
Shade nodded. “Well, a swift march and then a fight, but yes.”
Miranda sighed. “That’s what I meant.”
It was strange for Miranda, sneaking around the town wall in broad daylight, and it took longer, trying to camouflage herself with her surroundings, but Shade insisted that it would save time in the long run if they could avoid being spotted. Once they had safely circumvented the town they made greater speed, moving fast through the short grass, bent double for extra caution. As they moved westward and the town faded behind them they were joined by other Wanderers, sometimes one, sometimes two at a time. She saw no sign of the prince’s army, and they reached the forest some two hours later without incident.
Here the Wanderers halted, catching collective breaths and refreshing themselves with provisions brought along for the short journey – for some perhaps their last meal.
That won’t help things, Miranda mentally berated herself, you’ll have to face whatever comes with a steady heart, and dark reflections won’t help you to be brave. She propped her small bow against a tree and leaned her back against the rough bark. She was hot and thirsty, but she didn’t notice; she was far too caught up with the thoughts of the coming battle. She looked up and saw Shade standing a few feet away, scanning the grassland they had just crossed. She would go ask him about Natyan’s absent army.
“Shade?”
He glanced up, and offered her a flask of water. She took it and asked the question that was bothering her. “Did Natyan abandon us?”
Shade shrugged. “I can’t say. He was to meet us here if not before, but there is no sign of him or his men. Still, I’ve known him for a long time and it isn’t his way to go back on his word. But in these days one cannot count on anything, even that which was once proved to be sure. We’ll see –” he broke off, looking back over the way they’d come. “Ah, what is that?”
Miranda squinted, and thought she could see flashes, not regular but repetitive, on the horizon. “Is that armor or flashlights?”
“Armor, if I’m any good as a tracker.” They waited, the other Wanderers gradually noticing the flashes too and joined them, watching in expectant silence. In a quarter of an hour a troop of some three hundred men drew up before them. One, who by his manner appeared to be the leader, scanned the group uncertainly.
“Which one of you is Shade?” he asked.
Shade stepped forward. “I am. Steffan, where is Natyan?”
The man looked relieved and troubled at the same moment. “The prince was to march with us before noon. Noon came and went and there was no sign of him, and no messenger could obtain news of his whereabouts. I feared he had left us behind, so I led those in my charge here with all speed. You mean you do not know where he is?”
Shade shook his head. “No, he was to come with you – and twice your number, actually.”
A groan escaped Miranda’s lips. With that few soldiers, the goblins could easily keep them all engaged and circle back with the giants, if their numbers were anything like as many as she had heard.
The man Shade had called Steffan chewed his lip. “Well, I don’t think we can wait, and we can’t go back.”
“Certainly not,” Shade agreed. “The goblins will already know we are here. They may even now be forming up. We must go out to meet them – now.”
“I and my men are with you,” The commander said decidedly. “And if we die, we will die standing where every soldier in this kingdom ought to be this day – defeating the goblins!” There was a murmur of agreement from his men, but Miranda felt her heart sink. More than ever now she felt the responsibility of what she was going to do. Her chances of success were slim, and yet failure meant the sacrifice of the lives of these men. She had to succeed to save them and every other living thing beneath the sun, but it was about as likely as pricking her finger on a forbidden spindle on her fifteenth birthday.
Anyway, I’m already fifteen. That makes it worse. A short walk through the forest, and she would be in her place, waiting for the giants, at the cottage from which she had first entered this world. And here, at this moment that had come far too quickly even for Miranda’s liking, she would leave all her new-found friends behind and go on – alone. It was a dark word, full of foreboding, like a hungry mouth opened wide to devour. The men were forming up in ranks, even the Wanderers, passing out last minute instructions, and Miranda didn’t even try to guess what her heart rate was.
Probably 4,000 over 20; something like that. She felt very isolated now that she was about to strike off on her own. She tried to console herself, thinking, just wait till I tell Zeke about this. He’ll never believe that I shot three giants all on my own – if I live to tell him that is. She shivered, and on sudden impulse ran to her uncle who was organizing the Wanderers and grabbed his arm.
“I won’t say goodbye, as I mean to wait until I go home to do that, but I have to thank you for everything. If I don’t live and you meet my brother Zeke sometime, tell him I said goodbye, and to father too, if you ever see him again. Tell them I loved them. Will you?” She looked up at him pleadingly.
“Miranda,” he said, smiling sadly. “If you do not survive, I don’t think I will either. But if somehow I do, I promise to deliver your message.” He patted her shoulder encouragingly. “Success go with you!”
She choked on a reply, but raised her hand in farewell before snatching her bow and sprinting off into the trees. She couldn’t cry now.

Chapter 8: The Last Stand

The cottage looked just as it had when she had last seen it – only now it was daytime. For a brief moment Miranda considered waiting inside, but decided against it. She was in no hurry to see that horrific spectacle again anytime soon, even though she now knew it was giant’s blood that decorated the walls. She didn’t care – it was still blood. Fingering her bowstring, she leaned against what must have once been a stone wall behind the house, though now it was so broken down and moss-covered that there seemed to be more stones scattered on the ground than there were stacked. She wondered if the giants would come at all or if now, with the reduced number of the prince’s men, they would simply trust their goblins to do all the work – and if they would be right. All she could do was wait for them to turn up, or a messenger telling her that she was waiting in the wrong place and needed to move. Miranda fidgeted. More waiting. She hated this. Her nerves were stretched taut and almost snapping and she could do nothing but sit. The sun sank lower, and still nothing happened. No one came, no one at all.
At last she stood up, rebraided her hair, tightened her belt around her waist and nocked an arrow to her bow, holding it ready. She would seek the giants out. She stepped around the corner of the cottage and instantly froze, shrinking back into its shadow. Three tall figures – ten feet tall if they were an inch – stood near the brook and west a ways, waving their arms and seeming to argue. The first, if he had been a man, would have been a broad, middle-aged one, perhaps in his fifties, but vigorous and strong. The second was clearly his son, for he looked to be only a younger version of his father, slightly smaller in build but with a mean leer that was in itself more frightening. The third, his mother, was as tall as her son, thicker than woman’s wont but mighty in her own giant way, and almost regally beautiful. Miranda felt fear choking in on her, fear that mingled with her determination, driving all other thoughts from her mind but her single purpose to kill these giants once and for all. She would not give way to it, not now, not when she had come this far. Two quivers of arrows were slung on her back, and she would not give up until every last one had been shot and she had no more breath to breathe. The giants would have to kill her first. Drawing back the bow, she took aim and fired it high in the air over the heads of the squabbling giants.
Miranda watched as their manner changed, pointing at the arrow and then back in the direction from which it had come – towards her. For a moment, she wished she could have just shot the stupid things before they even realized she was there. But she despised killing in cold blood as such an assassination would be, and now hiding would be no more use. She stepped into full view, another arrow on the string.
“It’s do or die now!” She shouted at the tall figures less than a hundred feet from where she stood. “Victory or death!” She listened to see if they would answer, and thought she heard them guffawing at her. Then they advanced, the young giant in front, eager to take the life of this pathetic young girl. His father and mother were behind and on either side of him, grinning a little in anticipation. Miranda kept her bow down, waiting until they were within easier range. Then she raised it, drew back and fired. The shot went wide. It seemed to twist and slide off something she could not see and pass over his shoulder. She knew they wore no armor, trusting to their charms to protect them, but the charms were supposed to give way before Miranda. She swallowed down the beginnings of panic and nocked another arrow.
As she drew it, she remembered something Deja had said, “Remember the eyes!” Right! She was supposed to shoot them in the eye to crack their spells, but that was nigh impossible. An obstacle, Miranda thought ironically, just like Shade said. I hope I live to tell him. They were close enough to chance another shot. Miranda released, this time aiming for the young giant’s eye, but again she missed. Shooting rapidly, she at last overcame quality with quantity and the ninth arrow found its mark. Less than thirty feet from her he crashed to the ground, dead.
“For the Sheques!” she cried, and took to her heels. She made a dive for the protection of the cottage, spinning as she gained it and sending several more arrows back toward the advancing giants. They were poorly aimed and went wide of their mark. The two giants were swinging huge clubs and shouting, no longer grinning. This was sport no more; it was a serious and deadly fight, and Miranda dodged around the corner again, making for the back of the cottage. A thud resounded in the early evening air, shaking the ground. The large giant had struck the cottage a tremendous blow with his club. It trembled but did not fall, for it had been built to resist them and was as sturdy as an old oak tree. He struck it again, and again it quivered. Miranda leapt onto a window ledge and scrambled onto the roof. Here she had an excellent angle on the giant’s wife, and drawing her bow she shot. The arrow skimmed through her hair as the roof shook beneath Miranda. Aware that she had only a matter of seconds left to slay the woman, she drew and shot again. This time the arrow flew true, and with a crash she fell to the ground, her club shattering the porch steps.
“For the Castors!” Miranda shouted, as the last standing giant’s mace struck the roof again so mighty a blow that Miranda fell backwards off the back of the house, crashed painfully to the earth. She heard a crack and pain shot through her side. Ignoring it, and the aches that she knew would shortly become bruises, she picked herself up and staggered a lopsided run. She tripped on the fallen stones of the wall but caught herself and ran on, weaving across the grassy openness, trying to put some distance between herself and the very angry giant. He stormed after her and she cut back at an angle, once again putting the cottage between them. Her arrows poured into the air arching first too high and then too low as he strode towards her. There was no mercy in his eyes; he had just watched her slay his wife and son and would not spare her if she fell into his hands. Miranda jumped into a window of the house just as the giant reached it. He swung his club, bashing it again, trying to bring it down on her head. She dashed across the small room and leapt out another window, sprinting low, trying to avoid being seen by the giant. A piece of plaster, broken off by the giant’s mace, spun through the air and grazed her cheek, and Miranda was aware of the warm wetness of blood on her face. She heard a roar behind her and turning, saw the giant glaring at her with utter rage storming on his face. He moved around the cottage and advanced on her. He was less than fifty feet away.
Miranda groped at her quivers. The first one was empty. Frantically she reached for the second. Only one arrow remained to her. She had to make this count. She waited, straining every nerve not to back up and not to shoot yet. She had to be sure. When she judged him to be close enough, she raised the bow, arrow already on the string, drawing it back to her ear, and fired. The giant raised his club, preparing to swing the instant he was within range, and the arrow buried itself deep into the head of his weapon, and Miranda knew she had failed. One giant still lived, but it might as well have been all three for the use it would be, and she was out of arrows. All she could do was run, and that would only delay the inevitable. She glanced about desperately, hoping as a last chance she could pick up a fallen arrow and reuse it, but the closest one she could see was stuck in the doorpost of the cottage. He was too close for her to be able to reach it, draw and fire before he got her. But she had to try. She turned, but before she took a step, a rain of arrows poured out from behind her, striking uselessly against the giant’s spell-armor, but slowing him up in the process as they struck at his face distracting and blinding him. He swiped at them as a man swipes at gnats, but he drew closer. Miranda hesitated for a sliver of a second, unsure what to do. Before she could decide, something struck the ground beside her, making her jump. A green feathered arrow was buried head first in the earth. She didn’t stop to think about it. Seizing the shaft she jerked it from the ground and nocked it to her string. It was longer than the arrows she shot before, but it didn’t matter. The giant was thirty feet away now, and hatred was in his eyes. She drew the bow to full draw, concentrating as she never had before to get the right angle, remembered at the last second to account for the extra weight of the shaft, corrected for it, and let fly.
The arrow passed the other missiles, arcing high, and then plummeting down and plunging deep into the giant’s eye. He ran on for several paces, hardly seeming to slow, but then a groan of pain and anger escaped him, and he stumbled, falling flat upon the grass, where he lay still.
“For Tihana and Shade!” She whispered, sinking to the ground. Now that the fight was over, she felt shaky. Her insides felt like Jell-O and her limbs seemed as if they were made of noodles. Her muscles refused to work, and she collapsed in a heap on the ground. And she found that she was crying.

Chapter 9: Zeke Enters

Miranda Castor, giant slayer, knelt on the ground, trying to collect her scattered wits. Vaguely, she was aware of the westering sun, red hot on her back. Behind her she heard a bang, coming from the direction of the cottage. She froze, turning slowly and peering anxiously at it. Disheveled, bleary-eyed and in his pajamas, Zeke stood before the ruin of the steps, looking about himself in confusion. Relief and joy flooded her, and springing to her feet she ran to her brother and threw her arms around him, choking him in an uncharacteristic display.
“Whoa!” Zeke’s arms whirled like a windmill as he tried to regain his balance. Miranda released him and stepped back. He squinted up into her face, seeming flabbergasted as well as crushed by her exuberant embrace. “Miranda? Are you alright?
“As well as can be expected. Oh, Zeke, it’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed you and Dad so much!”
“Huh?” Now he really stared at her, blinking slowly.
“I know it’s been less than a week, but I did get lonely.”
“A week! What are you talking about, Miranda? You were at dinner last night, and it isn’t even morning yet – at least I didn’t think so.”
Now it was Miranda’s turn to stare. “What? I was not! I’ve been held prisoner for the last five days or so, and would be still if it weren’t for Shade. Oh, wait! You haven’t met him yet!” She caught his hand and dragged him off at as close to a run towards the trees as an injured and exhausted girl and a half-asleep boy could manage.
“Wha-ah?” Zeke started to ask as he staggered across the open grassland, but he soon needed all his breath. His sister came to an abrupt stop before a tall man in a cloak who had just stepped out of the tree fringe. She pulled Zeke forward and presented him breathlessly like a trophy. “This is my brother Zeke. Zeke, this is our uncle, Shade.”
Zeke squinted up at the tall man. “Uh, nice to meet you?” he said uncertainly.
Shade smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Zeke. When did you get here?”
“I don’t know.” Zeke sounded confused. “I’m dreaming, I think. This was supposed to be our kitchen.”
“It’s just magic, Zeke.” Miranda said, exasperated and in pain. Her head felt as if a dozen dwarves were busy inside with hammers plus her injured side, and she could hardly focus. “This place is another world connected to ours by magic. You must have come through too.”
“Magic isn’t real.” Zeke said firmly, shaking his head to clear away the sleep and peering at Miranda in amazement.
Shade laughed. “Your sister said the same.”
“That was different,” Miranda objected, clutching her head. “I believed you eventually, anyway.”
“Zeke hasn’t known two minutes. There is time enough for him to best you yet.” He studied Miranda for a moment. “You took it a bit rough out there, didn’t you? We must not stand here.  The battle still rages. I left only because need drove. Zeke,” He glanced at the still bewildered boy, “do what you can for your sister while I’m gone. And, listen to her. I’ll be back shortly.” A moment later, he was gone.
As the shock of her unexpected triumph and the excitement of Zeke’s arrival faded, Miranda found her pain washing over her in earnest. One rib throbbed abominably in addition to the corresponding bruises, her head felt split apart, and the cut on her face would not stop bleeding. “The river, Zeke,” she muttered, staggering off in the direction she knew the river lay. He stood for a moment, glancing first at where the strange man had gone and then to his sister. Abruptly, he hurried off after Miranda.
She sank to the ground beside the dazzling river, dropping her fingers into its flow. “Water,” she slurred, and darkness took her. Stars swirled in her vision. Voices echoed from her past. Time dragged by. She was pain. Zeke, Shade, her father! Where were they? They were far away, lost in the black nothingness. It didn’t matter now. Sleep mattered. Yes, it did matter! She couldn’t give in and sleep or she would never wake up. She had to fight, had to wake up. It was too much work. She was drowning, alone with no one to help, no one to save her! Her mind blurred and faded.
Something was tickling Miranda’s neck. She groaned as consciousness crept over her. Zeke was muttering to himself somewhere near. She slapped at the tickling thing, and found it was her hair, wet and come loose from its braid. What had happened? She lay still, trying to piece together her memories. She remembered a storm, it had woken her, and she had gone down to the kitchen for warmth and work. It was a Tuesday night, or maybe now it was Wednesday morning, and there was a test the next day. Had she taken the test? No, she was pretty sure she hadn’t. Then what? A picture flashed into her mind, a swordsman leaping toward her and shouting something. That was right! She had dreamed about weird goblin creatures and giants. The memory was vague and mixed up, but she remembered a part when she herself had been fighting the giants, and had been hurt. Had she died in the dream? And she couldn’t get the word “shade” out of her mind. Had it featured a role? Shadowy monsters or something? Miranda didn’t think so. It had ended in darkness, and she could bring her memory up no further. Those giants had seemed so real. She shivered and came wide awake.
A clear white moon smiled down at her, grass rustled softly in the night air, and she was definitely not at home. As she struggled, trying to sit up, the memories flooded back, and she remembered everything clearly.
“Don’t sit up!” Zeke’s voice said sharply out of the semi-darkness.
Miranda fell back on the ground, startled. “What! What is it? What did I do?”
Zeke’s face came into view above her. “I’ve stopped the bleeding, but if I know anything from Dad, you were half dead and should be careful how much you do for a while. How are your other injuries feeling?”
Miranda grunted. “My head is better, but I think I have a cracked rib. Don’t worry, I’ll be as chipper as cheddar cheese in a day or two. Any news?”
“I’ll let Shade tell you. He said he’d be back with the others in a few hours.”
“Do you believe in magic now?” she asked mischievously.
“Maybe.”

Chapter 10: In Everything But Blood

The early morning sun peeked through the windows of the Castor’s high rise apartment as the lock on the door clicked and the door opened. Lieutenant Castor stepped in, set his bag in the entry, and proceeded inside. The place was strangely quiet. He was used to coming home to Miranda hard at work in the kitchen or zipping from room to room completing various tasks at lightning speed. Even Zeke was usually up by now, but there was no sign of anyone. Was there no school today? He couldn’t remember for sure, but he didn’t think so. Maybe they were out on one of their escapades, he thought wistfully. Part of him wanted to join them more often, but part of him dreaded relaxing his whirlwind schedule. His work buddy had been telling him to slow down, take some time off and have fun, but he couldn’t bring himself. Work distracted his mind. If he slowed down just a bit, it reminded him of his pain.
Ian glanced at the refrigerator. Taped to it was a printed off selfie, taken apparently by Miranda, of her and Zeke at the Upside-Down Ice Cream shop down the block. She looked so much like her mother! They were both growing up so fast. He needed to do more with them, to snatch at these wisps of time that were racing by and would soon be gone. Deep inside, he knew he would keep thinking and never acting if he didn’t make sure to do something. On sudden impulse, he pulled a yellow sticky note from the cupboard and wrote a note for the kids to find when they got home: Miranda & Zeke, as soon as that excuse for a school of yours is out for the summer, I want to take you on a little secret forest trail Mama and I loved to walk. I’m running errands, but we can talk more about it at dinner tonight. Love, Dad
He stuck it on the refrigerator next to the photo, took a deep breath, and shook his head. Tihana had loved that place, so secret and secluded that she had called it “the Naughty Girl Trail”, and brought out that spunky liveliness that brightened the whole world. Groping distractedly in the cupboards, he couldn’t seem to find the oats for his usual Ian-in-the-kitchen breakfast: oatmeal. Moving on, he searched in earnest. Opening a cupboard near the sink, the bag, which had been precariously balanced on the shelf, tumbled out, spilling oats all over the counter and onto the floor. He sighed. Now this. Maybe he should go back to bed. He surveyed the mess and went for the broom. Just beside the kitchen door was the Junk Closet, so called for it held all the odds and ends that did not classify properly into the other sections of the apartment, and the unlucky broom and dustpan apparently fell into this category. The doorknob was cold on his hand. Ian opened the door, and jerked back in surprise.
Wind crawled through his hair. It smelled strange and yet familiar too. It looked completely different and the same, both at once. It was the same place. The chill of the wind slithered into his heart. Ian hadn’t seen the children when he arrived home, and the apartment was, after all, so silent. Could it be that they had found their way into the Other Place? But the chink had been sealed for years, he knew too well. Why was it open again all of a sudden? Releasing the knob, Ian hurried up the hall to Miranda’s room. The door stood ajar, and the room beyond was empty. Zeke’s small room was the same. No one answered his shout. There could be no doubt. They had gone through the chink. Who had they met? What trouble might they have gotten into? Much had probably changed since he had last been there, especially if his brief glimpse of the cottage rang true. Were any of his friends even still alive? And what was the likelihood of Miranda or Zeke joining up with them? He would have to go find them.
Once he had made his decision, Ian worked quickly. He changed out of his uniform into old jeans and a tee shirt, pulled on a light windbreaker, and dug deep for things he had kept buried for many a long year. His dagger, sharp, double-edged, woven about with victory spells from another world, and his bow. He had learned to shoot from a strange young man in that world, and had never forgotten. His gun would do him little good in a world where he could get no replacement rounds and might be up against magic. No, this called for tools of a more ancient sort.
Beside the Junk Closet door, he laced up his old tennis shoes, fastened his knife to his belt, and slinging his quiver over his shoulder, picked up his bow. Taking a deep breath, Ian stepped through, into a different world.
He felt the once-familiar disorientation of the world shift. His body adjusted to the new place, and he looked back over his shoulder. The hall was still visible through the open door. Who knew what creatures would creep through while he was gone? Ian pulled the door closed behind him. He would find his old friend Shade, and together try to track Miranda and Zeke. It had been many years. Where was the gray Wanderer now?
Shade was, at that moment, puzzling out a difficult problem. The goblins had been put to flight, though the army had been too few to crush them entirely as he had hoped. The three giants lay dead, their spells most likely shattered, Miranda was still mostly alive, and the last of the fallen heroes had been put to rest. But those still living had a bigger problem on their hands: they had no home to return to. At least, that was what Shade believed and all the men feared, based on the commander’s report. Most of them were sleeping now, free of their cares for the moment, in the camp beneath the trees, but Shade still went over the fragments of solid fact in his mind, trying to make sense of it.
While Miranda had been held prisoner, his men had not been idle. They had guarded her faithfully, but also done some snooping of their own. All was not well between the king and his son – between the king and anyone. It had always been rocky with Shade, but now that tension seemed to have spread like a devouring disease. Whispered plots, assassination attempts, strange words in the throne room, and now, Natyan had not come. Something was very wrong here, and he felt that there was only one sliver of information he was missing to make the whole thing fit together. A little thing, perhaps, that was obvious. Something he was lacking that was so incongruent as to cast the whole affair in a fresh light and make it make sense. If he could just hit on the right thing... A whisper behind him jolted him out of his thoughts. It was Zeke.
“I thought you would be asleep!”
Shade leaned back against the tree. “Then why did you come?”
“Miranda told me her story.” Zeke flopped onto the ground, arms crossed behind his head.
Shade nodded. “I heard.”
“I wanted to know more, but she didn’t want to talk. She said she didn’t know the answers to all my questions and she didn’t care right then, and to stop bugging her. She said you’d be awake. She’s tired, so that always makes her grumpy.”
“Is she alright, then?” Though Miranda herself had assured him she was quite fine now, only tired, Shade feared she might have suffered some sort of enchantment in her fight with the giants.
“Oh, yes. That’s just Miranda for you. She can talk your ear off until she’s finished what she wants to say, and then she’s done, and tells you to stop bugging her.”
“So she sent you to bug me instead?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Shade adjusted himself and blew out his breath. Perhaps turning his mind to something else, talking it through, would help him strike gold. He needed something to snap him out of the circles his mind was going in. “Well, what did you want to know?”
“I don’t understand pretty much anything of what happened between arriving at the castle and this morning. Where were you? And why did Miranda have to be kept under guard? Neither of us could figure out the meaning of the conversation with the king, either.”
Shade almost laughed. The questions seemed so easy beside the ones he himself was trying to answer. “The king is two-faced double-crosser who believes that oaths are made to be broken. I didn’t trust your sister in his hands one minute, and it was well that my men were watchful.”
“But Miranda said nothing happened,” Zeke said.
“The night before I returned, soldiers rushed the stairs. Loyals of the prince stood beside my men and forced them to retreat after bitter contest. No soldier reached the stair, thanks to the watchfulness of my friends. That is why she was guarded.”
Zeke shoved himself upright, more alert than ever. “But why didn’t the king ever just kill her before then?”
Shade laughed quietly. “For all his blustering, he is, quite frankly, a coward. He works by schemes and subtleties, but in direct confrontation he lacks a backbone and all his words are hollow. He’s threatened to hang me a dozen times, but never has the gut to follow through. Killing Miranda is too daring for his sort, and a little shed of his conscience lingers, nagging him against such a move.”
“Why? I mean, I understand not hanging you – who knows what might happen besides a total revolt then – but Miranda was a stranger. No one knew her. What difference would it make if he killed her?”
Shade did not answer for a moment. His mind was sidetracked to years ago, to Ian Castor, and the sister he would never see again – beautiful Tihana, to when he had first met Natyan and a vivid dreadful night. He was close to his missing piece.
“Word would get out.” He answered mechanically, scarcely realizing he spoke. “Even if people didn’t know her, they know what they owe to her father and mother, and a little to me. It would cause an unprecedented revolt in all of history.” He stopped. The horrible night, a debt owed, and the prince. Yes, it all fit together. He almost felt sick as he realized the truth.
“Goodnight,” he said abruptly, and left a confused Zeke in the camp and sped silently away. He needed to check something, think a little, and then act quickly before it was too late. Not just for Natyan, but for all of them.